Wishing on a Star
by Alec Sierra
Summary: Richard returns to Hogwarts after Summer to study. Marius returns to Hogwarts after twenty years to teach. A new kind of danger awaits.  It's almost totally original characters, set long after Deathy Hallows, and none of this slash rubbish.
1. Old Beginnings

It was like every year; Richard braced his mother with both arms, and accepted his father's friendly (but no less painful) punch to the shoulder, "I'll write- I promise!"

This year, though, was a little bit different, he reminded himself as he turned to face the great steam engine, scarlet and gleaming, that snoozed in the station. He was seventeen. The moment he got on the train, that was it – his last year at Howarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would begin. This was his last chance to be a kid, before he landed with a thump into the adult world.

"Mum, calm down. It's just school – I've done this trip loads of times, remember?" he said, as his mother's face turned an itchy red, and she started flapping herself violently with her hands to cool down, "Mum, calm down! Dad, calm her down. Look, I'm off, now. The train'll be leaving in a minute."

"Go on then," said his father, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulder. She seemed preoccupied with saying 'shh' to herself, "And _don't _forget to write. You know who'll get it in the neck if you do."

"Alright then. I'll see you at Christmas. Love you both."

He heaved up his case by the handle, before remembering, with triumph, that he was now legal to use magic in the real world. Grinning cheesily, he waved his wand, and whispered the incantation, and the trunk lifted itself off the ground, as if by magic, and followed him obediently on-board, while his mother's eyes began to water. He found his friends' compartment, exchanging greetings before returning, with the bulk of the student body, to the corridor in order to see off the throng of parents outside. The great whistle sounded, and there were some deep noises of wheels, slowly turning beneath their feet. Due to the sheer mass of people in one another's way it was more or less impossible for them to find their parents in their respective crowd outside, and so each student did their best to present their face as clearly as possible to the window, in order that their families outside be able to see them, if not the other way round. Richard was not ungrateful for this, because every year, one or two hysterical parents tended to run across the platform after the train, and he did not want to find out whether one of them was his mother. Before long, the train had pulled out of the station, and they were gone.

"So, how was everyone's summer?" he asked, sitting himself down in their compartment, rooting in his hand-luggage for a cake-tin that his mother had lovingly pressed into his hands before they left the house that morning.

"Not bad. What've you got this time?" Lenora, Richard's best friend, had been with him almost every journey on the Hogwart's Express, ever since first year, and had seen his infamous cake tin (and sampled its extraordinary contents) more times than either could remember. She had a wicked sense of humour, and a knack for bluntly stating exactly what she thought or wanted and somehow passing it off as charm.

"Fairy cakes," he answered, opening the tin and peeking inside. As the others stared at him with wonder, he laughed, and added, "Without actual fairies. It's just what muggles call them."

"Disappointing. Very disappointing. On the other hand, these are _amazing_," she diagnosed critically, closing her eyes as though to help try to lock in the flavours. The tin was passed around before finally returning, with compliments, to Richard, who still had yet to take one.

"What was that? Len actually _likes_ something? I'm writing that down. When my mum hears that, she'll weep with pride."

"From what I've heard, it doesn't take much to get your mum to weep with pride," she shot back, mischief glittering in her eyes, referring to one of the letters he had sent her. That summer, Richard had found his muggle mother incredibly easy to impress, be it from apparating around the house rather than walking, or using magic to complete the household chores in minutes. When his father tried to win her favour in a similar way, however, it was deemed 'annoying' and he would invariably miss a spot.

"I'm the most exciting thing that's happened in her life," he joked, with pantomime pride. It was probably true, too, he considered, pragmatically. Him or marrying his father, either way.

"Well, judging by the look of you, she's led a pretty dull life."

"I may be dull," he grinned, "But my mother makes absolutely fantastic fairy cakes, and if you want any more, I suggest you find me far more interesting."

"I hope," Lenora addressed the others, Marco and Alvin, "that Dick here realises that my newfound fascination with him is going to be exactly proportional to the quantity of fairy-less fairy cake I am likely to receive," she helped herself to another cake. Richard remembered a time in third year that Lenora had been desperate to lose weight; she had since announced her belief that the best things in life all had to be digested.

"So how was your summer, Dick?" asked Marco, the captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team, "Get up to much, other than cleaning up after your mum?"

"I wish!"

"Did you-"

"Did I get a chance to practise quidditch?" he had been waiting for the question from the moment he'd seen Marco, and he exchanged a glance with Lenora, "No, I already told you I live in muggle central. Can't be seen flying, can I?"

The countryside flew past in green-grey blurs. Trees came and went in a heartbeat, and reservoirs and lakes barely had the chance to reveal any reflection. The sweet-trolley witch had been and gone, and Richard pulled himself regretfully to his feet, "The prefect carriage calls. You guys know the drill. See you at the feast, ok?"

"Ooh, isn't he professional?" teased Lenora, before laughing and ducking as the last fairy cake mysteriously floated out of the tin and threw itself at her.

Richard wasn't a big fan of the prefect carriage. He found it to be friendly, but stiff. The people there, while mostly on good terms, tended not to be people that would associate with one another naturally, and so conversation tended to be formal, and irrelevant. It almost always revolved around the weather, and as they were heading towards Scotland in autumn, the topic was unchangingly dowdy, in subject and style.

"Yeah, the weather's pretty grim," he agreed, with a slightly weary sigh, as he changed from his normal, muggle clothes into his school robes. The yellow badge on his robe reading 'Head Boy' inspired in him some kind of snotty pride that caused him to look down himself, and to needlessly straighten his Hufflepuff tie, and shine his shoes with his wand, so that both the leather and the buckles shined. There were just two others in his compartment, getting changed with him; the male Hufflepuff prefects of the fifth and sixth-years. The girls were getting changed with the Head Girl in the next compartment along, and, about five minutes after the boys were ready, they headed in themselves. There were only two kinds of people in the prefect carriage, Richard noticed; people who'd always expected to be prefects and let the badges go to their heads; and people who had never expected to be prefects, and had to work very hard to acquire an air of responsibility, respectability, and authority. He placed himself firmly in the second category. The Head Girl, a tall girl called Dace, was in the first category.

"Well, congratulations to Irene and Peter," she said, "On getting selected from the fifth years; Richard and I hope you make Hufflepuf proud. Don't we, Richard?"

"Oh, yeah," he looked at them, and was reminded of himself two years ago, "It's a bit weird at first, being sort of in charge, but-"

"Now, if either of you have any questions," she interrupted him, not through arrogance, but because she hadn't really noticed he'd been talking, "or, indeed, if _anybody _in here has any questions, you can of course ask myself, or Richard here."

"Sure."

Before long, the prefects of all four houses paired up and split up, taking one carriage each. Richard had been paired with Peter, and was grateful it wasn't Dace, as it had been the year before, and together they took the last carriage of the train, poking their heads into each compartment to warn that they would be arriving at Hogsmeade Station in just a few hours, and that they ought to be in robes for when that time came. Finally the journey was over, and after hastily shepherding the mob in the correct general direction, Richard managed to reunite himself with Lenora, and together they got one of the self-drawing carriages with a couple of seventh-year Slytherins they vaguely knew. The evening was drawing in already, as it was want to do in Scotland at this time, and a rich, inky blue painted itself into the sky, illuminating the lake as the eerie carriages carried them toward the mighty castle that loomed on the horizon.

No matter what anybody else said, Marius Shill found it strange being back. He didn't feel particularly different from when he left Hogwarts after finishing his OWLs all those years ago, but suddenly he was allowed to refer to his old teachers (the ones that were still there, anyhow) by their first names. It didn't feel right. He still called Headmistress McGonagle Professor, and would not be persuaded to change such practise (not that she tried particularly hard to). What was more, the ghosts and portraits (generally, they didn't remember him – why would they have done?) that peered out of walls and frames at him now referred to him, however sceptically, as 'Professor Shill' or, weirder, 'Sir'.

Times had changed, he reflected, as they were bound to. Most of the old teachers had retired, and some had even passed on. Only McGonagle, Flitwick, Binns and Vector remained, leaving a lot of new staff that were now merely middle-aged, rather than decrepit, as they had been during Marius' own spell at Hogwarts. He was quietly grateful that he was not the only new appointment that year, the other being a certain Professor David McQuinn – they'd still not met properly, yet, but he could pick him out, looking across the teacher's table in The Great Hall: a dark young man in plain robes, who looked like he wasn't really paying attention. Marius instinctively frowned, realising this was appropriate for a teacher that had caught somebody being unattentive, before remembering to politely applaud the tiny first-year Ravenclaw who had just been sorted.

"Well, well, now I can welcome you all to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry officially, now that you are all in your proper houses," Professor McGonagle, the headmistress stood at the centre of the teachers' table, once the Sorting had finished. Though relatively friendly during big feasts like this, she still came across as highly stern. Marius had never encountered her wrath in person, but he had heard rumours, and didn't doubt that at least half of them were true, "I, on behalf of all of the staff here at Hogwarts, wish to welcome you with open arms, but to remind you that Hogwarts is not just a place of wonder and friends, but of learning. It is our aim to encourage you to be happy, busy individuals, as befits an institute of learning such as this. Tomorrow starts a new year, for some of you, your first year of Hogwarts, and we will work you hard. I, as Headmistress, strongly encourage you to take this feast now as an opportunity to unwind fully before the hard work begins."

She clapped her hands sharply together, and, all across the hall, plates in the centre of tables began to fill with food that appeared seemingly from nowhere. Some students gasped; either from the novelty, or, for some, it was probably the first magic they had ever seen. Greedy hands, on all the tables, shot out to grab whatever was desired, be it animal, vegetable, or mineral. Marius was not used to such a huge meal at the end of the day, reaching instead for varied bits of bread, some cold meats, and a small knob of butter. He was quite glad when the general gluttony finally came to an end.

"First years!" Richard called out to the kids, few of them even reaching his chest. Eventually, the Hufflepuff prefects managed to gather their charges, newly adorned with yellow and black ties, and they led them down the stairs to the basement.

"Would you care to do the honours?" Dace generously offered, faced with the simple picture of a bowl of fruit.

"Oh, right, yeah. First years, listen up! To get access to Hufflepuff common room, you just have to show the portrait black and yellow sparks," he demonstrated with his wand; a small sphere of yellow lights about a foot from the tip of his wand danced around something dark at their centre. The portrait made a pleasant sound, like someone enjoying food, and swung open, revealing a round little door, "When you get used to your wands, you should find you can do the sparks pretty easily. To be honest, the portrait'll recognise most of you, so if you can't do it, give it a go, or ask nicely, and it'll probably let you in anyway."

"Well explained," said Dace, kindly, "Now, when we get in, first to fourth years are to go to bed immediately. Fifth, sixth and seventh-years may stay up one further hour, provided they remain within either their dorms or the common room. Good evening, everybody," with that, she opened the door, and the Hufflepuffs poured in. Their common room was squashy, with lots of fat, round little sofas and footstools shaped like tree stumps. Dace lit a jolly fire with a flick of her wand, that crackled happily in its grate, bathing the room in a yellow glow, while Richard reminded some fourth-years, as forcefully as he could, that they had been told to turn in.

The common room finally largely empty, he headed over to Marco, Alvin and Lenora. Marco dealt him a hand for their game of exploding snap, while Lenora gave Dace a glare behind her back, before rooting in her back for an innocuous bottle of pumpkin juice, and, conjuring four goblets, she poured them each a glass of something that certainly didn't look like pumpkin juice. She raised it to her lips, and took a sip, "Why, I do believe somebody has put Firewhiskey in my pumpkin juice," she stared at Richard, daring him to challenge her. She knew full well he wouldn't.

"I reckon it's Peeves, you know," he said "Blasted nuisance. Well, here's to a new year."


	2. Something New Every Day

"Good morning, class," said Marius, as he closed the dungeon door. A few moments passed, where he tried to sum up the third-year Gryffindor and Ravenclaws, while they, for their part, tried to analyse him, "I'm Professor Shill- head of Slytherin House, and the potions master – obviously, since we're in potions class. I understand that you've been instructed by Horace Slughorn before now. I've never met the man myself, but have heard he was a master of his art, so I expect you'll all be aware of the basics. This year, we're going to be looking at several recipes, including the draught of living death, and we start, in the third year, to do a general study of _how_ such potions work, magically. Any questions so far? No? Good. Right. As I have no idea as to your general aptitude, please turn to page seven of Magical Draughts and Potions. The recipe for 'Pepperup Potion' is right there; you know where the potions cupboard is, and remember the golden rules; ask me if you're not sure, wear goggles unless you _want_ scalding liquid in your eyes, and don't put anything in your mouth unless it's tastes good."

There was a smattering of nervous chuckles. Evidently, the class wasn't one hundred per cent sure he was joking. Amused, Marius didn't bother enlightening them. As they collected their ingredients, measuring the pinejuice to within a hair's breadth, the students' avid attention to the recipe dismayed him, slightly. He did not doubt that, given their inexperience, obeying the instructions to the letter would invariably produce better results than guessing, and sneakily throwing in extra ingredients (as he had at their age), but he did not feel much excitement, or any mischief. Not creative mischief, anyway. Typically, one bright spark found it hilarious to turn off his classmate's fires magically, which Marius ignored for a few minutes, before sighing and creeping up behind him; he whispered in his ear, "If their potions are spoilt, I shall make you drink them. Either that, or ten points from Gryffindor. Your choice."

This was typical. All day, Marius had set each class, except for first years, a different potion, according to their level. Truth be told, the most professional reason for this was the one he gave – to get to grips with the general skill-level of his students – but on a personal level, he'd been looking for that inventive, imaginative spark and, simply put, hadn't found it. He had known at the start of the day how optimistic he was being, but that did nothing cushion his disappointment, as he sank into a seat at the teacher's table in The Great Hall, whose enchanted ceiling poured greying light in from the artificial sky. An irish accent snapped him from his musings.

"Evenin'," Professor McQuinn sat next to him, and awkwardly reached a hand across his body to shake. Marius shook it.

"Good evening. I'm Mariu-"

"Marius Shill, yeah. David McQuinn. Nice to meet you," McQuinn had a breathlessness about him; a cheery impatience that spoke of a mature sort of excitement. Without looking at him (instead busying himself with the food as it appeared on the table), he continued, "How was your first day?"

"Ah, not too bad," he said, objectively, "Nobody died. What more can one wish for? And you? Today was your first day, too, wasn't it?"

"Well, technically, yes," as McQuinn turned to look at him, Marius noticed that his eyes were blank-looking, watery-brown and staring blandly. They didn't quite suit his demeanour, and gave him the impression McQuinn was only giving him half his attention, "But tonight's my first night."

Marius paused for a moment, confused, before, "Ah, of course. You teach Astronomy. I forgot."

"No worries, my man, no worries," he took a sip of pumpkin juice, before simply saying, "I'm not even going to pretend I remember what you're teaching."

"Potions."

"Ahhh, course. I forgot about potions. Never quite got the hang of 'em. All very hands-on and practical. Not my thing at all. By the way, I hope you don't mind me asking – that's not a native accent, surely?"

"Well, it should be," admitted Marius, "We moved to Germany, my parents and I, before it all kicked off over here, when I was done with my OWLs. I've been there since my NEWTs, well, their equivalent, the Magitur qualification. I must have picked up the accent there."

"Ah, so you're a Sternschwarz man? Good school, I heard."

"An excellent school. Much more practical than here, though, I think."

"You seem to miss it."

"Yes, I do, a little. But I've missed being here, as well. It's strange to be back."

"You're telling me."

"So?" Lenora jumped on him as soon as Richard got back to the common room that evening.

"So what?" he shot back, manoeuvring his way past her to his chair.

"The new potions master. What's he like?" she said, sitting opposite him.

"Oh, Shill, you mean? A bit brash, but he seems alright. I dunno," he admitted, "It's hard to say. All he did was get us to make Amorentia, to see where the class was at."

"Fat lot of good you are," just then, she spotted somebody on the other side of the common room, and waved to get their attention; Richard twisted in his seat to see Professor Lye, head of Hufflepuff, walking over. He was just within a greying hair's breadth of middle-age, but there was something about his spirit that was so incurably lively and youthful, the lines beginning to carve themselves into his forehead were practically invisible.

"Good evening, Terror," he said to Lenora, his eyes twinkling, "And you, Dick. Congratulations on Head Boy, by the way."

"Cheers Professor."

"Anyway," he said, "What do you want?"

"The new potions master."

"... what do you want to know?"

"Everything you can tell us, 'cause _this_ lazy lump of a Head Boy," she jerked her head in Richard's direction in mock accusation, "wasted his time doing what he was supposed to, instead of finding out all the juicy stuff."

"Well, I don't know that much," Lye chuckled, "He used to come here, but left for Germany with his parents just before Voldemort's rise to power. I think he's been there since, basically, but felt like a change so came over here to teach for a bit."

"Did McGonagle say at the feast he's the new head of Slytherin?"

"_Professor_ McGonagle did say that, I think," he said, a little bit sternly.

"But he's only just come?" she protested, "How can he be the head of a house already?"

"Well, think about it, Len. You're a clever girl," he said, "Slytherins have gotten themselves something of a reputation in the past few years. Some of it's deserved, some of it's not. Professor McGonagle wanted to avoid, naturally, any new staff with any histories they're not necessarily proud of, and you can imagine how hard that is to find with a Slytherin of my generation. Anyway, that's enough speculation. You're going to get me in trouble, one day," he turned back to Richard, "Dick, did Marco talk to you about Quidditch trials?"

"No?"

"Well, he wants to start them as soon as possible. He's still gutted about last year,"

"And don't we know it," butt in Lenora.

"So he really badly wants to put together the team ASAP. Well, obviously, you'll be playing beater again, but he's gone to book the pitch for Thursday already, but he wants you to give the message."

"Oh, does he now?" said Richard, with good humour, getting to his feet, and pointing his wand at his throat, "_Sonorous_. Good evening Hufflepuffs!" the charm magically enchanted his voice, so that it amplified, echoed, and reverberated around the room – the people closest to him covered their ears, "Just a quick message to all of you Quidditch fans out there on behalf of the Hufflepuff Team Captain, Marco Deltrus– try-outs are this Thursday, six o' clock after class. The spots available are seeker, two chasers, a beater and a keeper. Six o' clock at the pitch on Thursday. Thanks all. Enjoy your evening. _Quietus_."

He prepared to sit down again, before looking at the big grandfather clock in the corner of the room and jumping to his feet with a start, "Sugar! I've got to go – Astronomy calls."

"Get me some information this time!"

"Sorry I'm late", he panted, slamming the door shut behind him. He had forgotten the horrendous trip from the Hufflepuff basement to the Astronomy Tower, and with the stairs changing their minds halfway up, it practically doubled his journey. There were only four in the NEWT-level Astronomy class, himself included. Richard had always loved Astronomy. At OWL-level, it hadn't been that great – it was just learning things by heart, patterns, names of stars and shapes of constellations. At NEWT, though, things were different. It wasn't about just learning facts any more: it was about taking the patterns, taking what you expected, and applying the theories to hypothetical galaxies they couldn't even be sure existed. Lenora told him he was bonkers on more than one occasion.

"Good evening," said McQuinn, ignoring his lateness, "You must be Richard. Welcome, welcome. Now that we're all here, let me introduce myself properly. I'm David McQuinn; I was born in Dublin, studied at Hogwarts under Professor Sinistra, like you guys, and I've been studying Astronomy ever since," McQuinn's voice was gorgeous: soft and silky, but it bounced over the consonants with a certain glee. His telescope was a curious affair; it was a little bronze tripod with an extremely thick and quite a long scope, but with no eyepiece. Instead, a little silver antenna poked out of the centre, "Now, don't get me wrong; Aurora Sinistra was an amazing woman, but, well, she lacked imagination. Fortunately, last year, she worked you hard, or so I understand, which means this year, we can do something more enlightening."

Without a further word, he flicked his wand at his telescope. It made an impressive whirring noise for a few seconds, before an invisible little bell somewhere on its structure chimed. McQuinn then pointed his wand at the areal pointing out of the side, and a stream of golden sparks rushed from the silver stem toward him, grouping around his open hand.

"Professor, what-"

"Hold on. All in good time. Everybody grab a broom," he gestured to a quintet of broomsticks sitting in the corner of the room, "and follow me."

He led them from the top room through a poky little door to the outer turret of the tower, surrounded by the night, clear and thick like a deep quilt. Despite the altitude, Hogwarts was protected from the wind by some sort of enchantment, and so, on McQuinn's request, they mounted their brooms without difficulty, and, lit by wandlight, swooped silently over the lake until their teacher had found the right spot. All the time, the little golden shimmers were still swirling around his hand.

"Are you ready?" he jerked his hand upward, and the golden sparks jumped off, and grew. It hurt their eyes at first, the explosion of light in the dead night, but when their eyes adjusted and they could see properly, they found something they weren't expecting. Spheres of light danced in midair, whirling around one another; reds and blues and silvers and earthly browns all twisting together and all glancing off the dead black surface of the lake. It took the students a moment to spot that the lights weren't moving randomly, but in fixed patterns. It was hard to gage how large the illusion was, but from what seemed like the centre of it, Richard could make out spinning lights over one hundred metres away.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"And what, Richard Caswell, do you think it is?"

"It's... a galaxy."

"Which?"

"Circulasia, isn't it?"

"Ten points to Hufflepuff. Well, I don't know what you're waiting for. Explore!"

Richard had never seen anything more beautiful. Picked out against the lucid sky and the matte forest somewhere at the back of it all, the planets and suns were just gorgeous, and in incredible detail; Circe's Whorl ravaged the surface of Lominia just as they had learned last year, and the whole conceit revolved mightily around his head. His hands were sweating slightly against the wooden handle of the old broom as he explored the system. Every time he climbed just a little higher, the whole thing morphed before his eyes into something else completely, each planet swinging round its sun in an entirely new way. His mouth hung open in wonder, and he lost all track of time as Circulasia's glory swallowed him in every direction. It could've been minutes, hours, or days, and he wouldn't have known, but at some point, it vanished suddenly, leaving black, empty sky behind.

"Lesson over."

"How did you do that?" said Richard, back at the Astronomy classroom, putting away the brooms.

"The telescope. I built it when I was at the Ministry," McQuinn said, factually, "I hope you liked it. Now, theoretically, I shouldn't have this bit of kit, and I _certainly _shouldn't have shown this to you, so don't tell anybody what you've seen. Our secret?"

They swore their silence, before departing. Richard, Circulasia still turning in his head, practically swam down to the Basement again, his dress shoe's slapping hollowly against the wooden stairs. A few of the portraits gave him a glare, but he was completely oblivious. Time passed in fluid, like sugar through a sieve, and he was in total ignorance of the time when he got back to his dorm. Without bothering to so much as take off his shoes, he half-slumped, half-threw himself onto his bed, and his eyes drooped closed before he landed.


End file.
